


Beyond The Land of Monsters

by reytheghost



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Lie Low At Lupin's (Harry Potter), M/M, Post-First War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 23:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20554502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reytheghost/pseuds/reytheghost
Summary: After the war, after Azkaban, after years apart.





	Beyond The Land of Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> tw for (implied/non-graphic) trauma

He tried to convince himself that it had been the desperation brought to them by the war and their on a molecular level ingrained, shared fear of losing people – gut-wrenching, in his back, in his lungs, reaching for the tips of his fingers, and maybe he even felt it in his heart, in his blood, rushing through his ears. He desperately wished that he could believe it. He couldn’t. Where was the silence? 

He remembered everything. He remembered the words, the promises and the declarations in their own language founded on the edge of childhood, perfected during their teenage years and spoken fluently after – or so he’d thought, because he tried to tell himself that it had never truly been like that. It didn’t work. He was tired and he couldn’t sleep.

He remembered everything, from the rush of adrenaline after dangerous missions to fucking in the middle of the night with all the lights on. Breathing hard, Sirius lay down next to him and wrapped his arm around Remus' chest with his distinct grey eyes full of something, something. "I can barely believe that you're here with me."

"I'm really here with you," Remus said, moving closer.

Sirius kissed him and said, his voice soft, "I think these are my favourite moments."

Every time, with every memory, Remus’ cracked mind that had always betrayed his more or less rational thoughts when it came to Sirius concluded that being with Sirius had never been just a distraction, or merely a reassurance in the inevitable void of loneliness, because being with Sirius had been equal to being alive, always. And maybe they'd been together – entangled, molten, twisted – in such a way that he didn't know how to be without him anymore. On some days he didn't even want to know who he was without him.

An eternity later, for the first time in years, Remus saw him again in his dreams.

He dreamed a lot. Sometimes he thought that he dreamed more than that he slept. Most of the nightmares were so old and repetitive that they had become merely tiring. He wasn't sure how, for at many points in his life he had woken up, tangled in the sheets, sweat soaked and afraid, with his heart beating in his throat, and the possibility that it would ever change had never crossed his mind. But here he was, now, with his bed cold and his hands cold and his mind blank and his heart in prison. It wasn't relieving. At some point that endless source of hurt that had fed him, that had run through his bones like gold veins, had dried up. And he had stayed, holding on, holding on, holding on. That was life.

The first time Remus dreamed about him again was on a Sunday afternoon, after he had fallen asleep on the couch. It wasn't a nightmare in the conventional sense of the word.

They were back at Hogwarts, the two of them, somewhere near Hagrid’s hut. He wasn't as young as the last time Remus had seen him, but he looked the same, radiated the familiar energy Remus had never been able to capture in one word. Tall and tortured, unpredictable and alive, alive, alive, from his determined mouth, to his eyes both bright and dark like a daguerreotype. His black hair was as long as it had been when they were twenty. He was Remus' age, probably. Remus didn't know why that came as a surprise. He didn't say anything and Remus longed for his voice, but everything was so fitting, so  _ him _ , that he endured the silence while they began walking towards the castle. The brushing of their hands together sent warmth through his cold body. He looked at Remus and smiled and Remus wanted to smile back, but he didn’t know how and before he could figure it out, he stilled abruptly. Then Remus parted his lips and uprooted the trees with an unknown incantation, one only monsters could know, and a violent wind started to blow and a vice-like grip wrapped around his wrist. When he searched for his face, he was gone.

The next day an envelope arrived, early in the morning, before the Daily Prophet. It contained an official letter from the Ministry of Magic and a photograph. He stared back at Remus, unrecognisable if it weren't for those impersonal, sharp lines of ink above the picture forming the name that seemed to haunt Remus everywhere he went: SIRIUS BLACK. 

And the eyes. Those eyes. The lines of his skull. Dead and alive. "I'll never leave you alone," whispered in the dark, clinging to each other like they were the last people before the apocalypse. Lightyears apart, a threat, a handprint on his soul. Razor-sharp nails, permanent scars. A nightmare.

There was something about seeing him, alive.  _ Alive _ . The word was too generous.

His body felt unfamiliar under Remus' hands so he pressed his hands to the shoulder blades that he felt too close to the surface of his skin, while Sirius clutched at his robes. The filthy rags Sirius wore smelt of all things Remus did not ever want to name nor think of, but at this moment, despite the situation, his whole being shouted  _ Sirius Sirius Sirius _ . He pressed his face to Sirius' neck.  _ Finally _ .

Remus wanted to let him out, to let him walk free through the mostly empty fields behind the trees behind the road. Sirius' past self would have loved that. His present self looked as though it would do him good. He had sounded better in his letters, and not because it were just words on parchment. That hadn't changed: that you-could-rip-open-my-chest honesty like a thread in blood red laced through everything he did, through all his words, even when his voice was ailing.

Remus had broken enough rules to never break one again. Promises, too. And Sirius was too tired to object. But Remus would break a thousand other rules, though, and everything else, if it meant that Sirius could be safe, with him, even if it wasn't in his arms.

Sirius didn't say much. He stared a lot.

Looking at him hurt.

In the dead of night, light pooled into Remus' room. When he opened his eyes, he saw Sirius' skeletal, disproportionate silhouette in the doorway. Remus asked him if he wanted to come in. He could sleep here, if he wanted to. Sirius transformed into Padfoot and lay down at the empty side of the bed.

Sirius used to say that Padfoot was for him, with that fierce intensity Remus sometimes felt inside himself as though it were transmitted. Remus had always smiled, grateful for having not just someone  _ like  _ Sirius Black for a best friend, but Sirius  _ himself _ . Sirius Black, with his endless loyalty and sharp determination. He was the kind of boy to not ask questions about your scars because he knew that sometimes, no matter how much it hurt – or  _ because  _ it hurt – you just couldn't talk about things. He was the kind of boy to clench his jaw but also lift his chin when eventually, he discovered the secret. The kind of boy to pull out all the stops to find a way to make it better. Remus still remembered the day his best friends revealed what all those whispers and pretending to be studying as soon as he walked into the room had been about. Remus had cried and Padfoot had jumped, placed his large front paws on his shoulders to lick his tear stained face. Sirius stumbled when he changed back. He grabbed Remus’ shoulders, smiling brightly, while Remus wondered what he had done to deserve this. He pulled his friend into a bone-crushing hug.

It didn't take long until Sirius changed into Padfoot for pranking opportunities. It always made Remus laugh, which probably counted as "It's for you, Moony." It wasn't until later, though, that he changed into Padfoot when something was wrong; because of an encounter with a certain Slytherin, a shallow argument with James, a misunderstanding regarding Remus, or a fight within himself.

After Sirius told him how he had escaped Azkaban, how the dementors didn't sense him when he was in his dog form, he had heard it again, a voice from the past, accompanied by a cheerful smile.  _ All for you, Moony _ . Sirius had placed his spidery fingers on the side of Remus' face and thanked him. He sighed, because Sirius had done this on his own. If Remus had done anything, it was being a monster. But if that had helped Sirius in some way, he was grateful nonetheless.

That day Padfoot lay down next to him on the couch with his head on Remus' arm, as though he wanted to read what Remus was writing (a letter to Dumbledore). It reminded him of long lost moments early in the morning before the sun rose, when Sirius would prop his chin on Remus' shoulder to look at the crossword in the Prophet, take the pen from his hand and fill out something completely wrong that had nothing to do with the hint but happened to have the right amount of letters. Remus stilled his hand, and slowly, as not to startle him, he reached out to touch Padfoot's muzzle.

He trailed his fingers over his head, laced them through his fur when Padfoot didn't react. He shifted, leaned in and placed his cheek against Padfoot’s neck and closed his eyes.

Remus made dinner every night. He had never been a good cook and he had never particularly liked cooking either, but for Sirius he would stand in the kitchen and prepare a meal that reminded him of Hogwarts. The concoctions always seemed too elaborate for his plain kitchen. Today, Sirius sent him a tired smile, indicating that he remembered this one. Although he had no real appetite most of the time, Remus always urged him to eat. They talked, about food and Hogwarts, about Harry, about the future, about the weather, about buying new clothes. About chores and tragedies. Sometimes Sirius rushed and spit out the words as though there wouldn’t be enough time to take this slowly. Remus supposed he was right. Admittedly, Sirius had often been right. They had both changed, grown older, with fractured and half mended souls, but still  _ their  _ souls. In the back of his mind, he realised how it still felt right, and how relatively easy falling back together would be. He wondered if they would get the chance. (And if he would take it.)

Sirius opened the window and lit a cigarette. He looked more like Sirius and less like a shadow, Remus noticed. Sirius turned around, smiled when his eyes met Remus’. “What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Remus said quickly, and then he shook his head and corrected himself. “Not nothing. You look better."

"I also feel better." He flashed a grin. "Thanks to you."

Remus shook his head, but couldn't help smiling too. "I’m glad you’re here.”

“So am I.” Sirius sat down next to him again, closer than before. He reached out and cupped Remus’ cheek. Remus turned his face to press his lips against the palm of his hand. “I missed you every day,” Sirius said softly. "It hurt a lot." Remus wasn’t sure whether he referred to Azkaban, where the days faded into nights that faded into days until all sense of time was lost, or to the past year of being on the run. He had missed Sirius too. He could admit that now, so he did and he did, until Sirius asked him to stop and wrapped his arms around him for the first time since that evening in the Shack.

He didn't say anything when Sirius didn't change into Padfoot for the first time and just lay down next to Remus in Remus’ lonely bed, wearing Remus' T-shirt and Remus' shorts, which actually wasn't outstanding, because he'd worn Remus' clothes since right after he had taken a shower on that very first day. And before – they had worn each other’s clothes all the time.

Just before Remus fell asleep, he felt the warmth of Sirius' hand on his back. Not long ago, he would have wanted to pretend that this was like all those years ago. Now, he couldn't bring himself to. In the past years, he had found himself longing for those lost moments – and although he still did, illusions would never be enough, so there was nothing else to do than to take what he had, which was something he had, admittedly and for better or worse, been doing ever since. Somehow he was still alive, and Sirius was with him. Perhaps together they could find a way. 

Had he been fully conscious, he would have acknowledged the dangerous hopefulness of those ideas.

When he woke up, it was still dark and he was cold. He stretched his arm, but couldn't find the duvet. It took him a second to realise that Sirius was awake too, and that in fact the sounds of his heavy breathing and incoherently muttered words were what had woken him up. Remus grabbed his wand from the nightstand and mumbled a quick  _ lumos! _

Sirius was sitting up. His hands were trembling, and in the soft light from Remus' wand, his grey eyes in his hollowed face appeared eerily blank, yet strangely alive.

When he reached out, Sirius flinched.

He pulled his hand back. "It's alright," he whispered. "It's alright, Padfoot. You're safe. You're safe, Sirius." His voice broke around his name, but somehow he managed to add, "No one can hurt you now. I promise. I'm with you."

"Moony?"

"Yes. It's me. It's only me."

  


  


**Author's Note:**

> ps come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://reytheghost.tumblr.com/)!


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